


quotables

by Stripe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Universe, Doomed Timelines, F/M, Homestuck Shipping World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stripe/pseuds/Stripe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Small collection of fills for the first Bonus Round of the 2013 Homestuck Shipping World Cup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doomed!John/Vriska

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I managed to write for bonus round 1! These are all pretty quick and editing-light, so apologies in advance for quality.
> 
> (also i filled three dave prompts, why did THAT seem like a good idea)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ([Prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=234149#cmt234149))
> 
> (Doomed)John<3Vriska
> 
>  _"she said my name--  
>  and I, who did not love her,  
> opened my arms."_  
> \- Richard Jones, "The Loft"

Vriska tells you a lot of stories, about her life and yours. 

She tells you about the time she became a god – _”Really, she was just doing me a favor, beating me to death!_ \- and she tells you about the time you became a god – _”It’s a shame you can’t see it for yourself, but your hood is reeeeeeeeally cool!”_

It’s odd, hearing these stories about this other you, and you aren’t so stupid that you don’t notice the way her face changes, talking about you. Her normally cocky and unfriendly smirk changes into a genuine _smile_ that takes you by surprise.

It surprises you still when she looks at you with that smile. 

“John,” she says, and you wonder if she means you, or the version of you who didn’t doom a timeline.

“Yeah?”

“I was just wondering... well, I asked you on a human date a while ago.” A pause. “Well, not _you_ but the other you. You know what I mean.” 

“Yeah?” You know where this is heading, but you play dumb to buy yourself time to think. 

“I was just wondering if you would like to do that. Assuming the idea of dating a dead alien doesn’t freak you out too much or anything!” She laughs in a sort of disarming way that you’re sure is meant for show, born from the fear of a possible rejection. 

You mull over it for a moment, as much as a moment can exist in a timeless world like the one in which you now exist. Finally – “Yeah. OK.”

There’s nothing grand or overdramatic about it, but she smiles that genuine smile anyways. You manage to give one back. And why not?

You don’t love her, but she’s company, at least. And she doesn’t love you, either.

At least, not this version of you.


	2. Davesprite/Doomed!Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ([Prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=309157#cmt309157))
> 
> Davesprite<3/Doomed!Rose
> 
> _"There are people who believe a photo captures your soul. For them, this is a terrible thing._  
>  For me, it's one last chance."  
> -A Softer World

_”Say cheese.”_

_Click._

_“Dave, why are you shoving your camera in my face?”_

_“Tired of taking selfies and the consorts move too fast for me to snap anything decent. You’re the only subject I got.”_

_Click._

_“Hm. Carry on, then. I simply request you don’t choose to use any photos of me in ironically bad photoshop edits. As enviable as Beyonce’s body is, I don’t want to see my head plastered over hers.”_

_“No, you’re safe. Just trying to capture the moment, y’know?” Click. “Keep a little bit of it saved forever. Like scrapbooking but a million times less lame.”_

_She smiles. “That’s sweet, Dave.”_

_Click._

\----

The moment Davesprite was formed is so chaotic that Dave has trouble taking in all the details – a copy of himself appearing out of nowhere, telling him his best bro was about to die, dumping a bunch of captchalogue cards out of nowhere, then turning into an orange, glowing bird. It takes him a good half hour before he really starts to get into all the free stuff his alternate self gave him.

“What’s this?” He asks Davesprite, pulling out a card and waving it in his bird self’s face. 

“Improved drawing tablet. Adds jpeg artifacts as you go.”

“Sweet.” Next card is a cool thing in amber which needs no explanation but a fist bump, but after that, he has to take pause. “OK, orange bird me, the hell is this doing here?”

Davesprite caws and snatches it out of his hands almost immediately. “None of your beeswax,” he says as the card shifts into an actual item in his hands. “Your bees got nothing to do with this wax, they’re just like ‘woah, we’re not touching this shit, this is too heavy for us.’”

“Really?” Dave asks. “’Cause that looked like a picture of Rose. What’s so special about a picture of Rose?”

“What part of ‘none of your beeswax’ didn’t you understand?” he snaps. “And what do you care? Not like you want it.”

“’Course I don’t. Why would I want a picture of some snarky broad clogging up my inventory? Just wondering why you want it. On account of us basically being the same dude and all.”

Davesprite rolls his eyes and says in a purposefully patronizing tone, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Too bad, bro, sprite powers are overriding, can only speak in riddles now.”

Dave just shakes his head, starting to call “bullshit,” but before he can even sound out the double L’s, Davesprite’s spread his wings and flown away, picture held close to his chest.


	3. Alpha!Dave/Alpha!Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ([Prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=436645#cmt436645))
> 
> _"You're a gladitor in a suit. You want to be a gladiator in a suit. You gotta say it."_  
>  \- Harrison Wright, Scandal

You sit next to him on the roof of his apartment in Houston, watching the sunset. The last preparations for his brother have been taken care of, and with Roxy’s home long since settled, there is only one thing left to do. 

“I admit I may not be as... well-prepared for this as I might have hoped.”

He looks at you. “You killed the fucking High Chaplain without batting an eyelash. How hard can this be?”

“Dave. Please.”

“I mean, she’s only some psycho fish alien in wet-suit with about a fuck-ton of hair just sort of billowing out behind her like the exhaust outta some greenhouse gas polluting eighteen-wheeler. What’s there to worry about?”

He sounds confident enough, looks confident enough, but you’ve always been able to read Dave Strider like he was one of your own novels. There’s a slight tremor in his hands that gives him away: he’s just as scared as you are.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say casually. “Perhaps her menagerie of alien powers?”

“Child’s play.”

“Her trident? Which, might I remind you, is significantly longer than either of our own preferred weapons.”

“So we dodge and take her out fast.”

“She killed Jade English, who was a finer fighter then than we’ll ever be.”

A sharp intake of breath. “So we’ll get our revenge.”

You sigh and lean against him, resting your cheek on his shoulder. “I don’t understand how you can stand to be so nonchalant about this, Strider,” you say. “She’s almost certainly going to kill us.”

“Well, with an attitude like that, she will,” he tells you. “Look- just- you’re a gladiator in a suit, OK?”

“You’re the one wearing the suit,” you can’t help but point out.

“Whatever. You’re a gladiator. You’re gonna go in and fight a lion, and even if that lion’s probably just gonna chomp down on you and eat you for breakfast, you still gotta go in acting like you’re gonna be the one ripping out its guts or nothing’ll come out of it. You’ll just be a delicious gladiator sandwich.”

“That metaphor almost makes sense,” you tease him. “Surprising, given the source.”

“Shut it, Lalonde,” he tells you. “So you’ve gotta be a gladiator in a suit. That’s what you want to be. And you have to say it – ‘I am a gladiator in a suit.’” 

You stare at him for a moment before you realize he intends for you to repeat after him. It’s so childishly eager, you can’t help but comply. “I am a gladiator in a dress.”

He shakes his head. “Close enough. And are you gonna go and gut this lion?”

A smile. “I’ll gut it or die trying, I suspect.” You let out a soft sigh, and turn to gently peck his cheek. “I’m glad that if I’m to die alongside anybody, it will be you.”

Dave doesn’t respond immediately, choosing instead to look out over the horizon, and watch the sun set on his last day.

“Yeah. Me too.”


	4. Alpha!Dave/The Condesce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ([Prompt](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/3493.html?thread=446629#cmt446629))
> 
> Alpha Dave<3< Condesce
> 
> _“Anarchy wears two faces, both creator and destroyer. Thus destroyers topple empires; make a canvas of clean rubble where creators then can build another world. Rubble, once achieved, makes further ruins' means irrelevant._
> 
> _Away with our explosives, then!_
> 
> _Away with our destroyers! They have no place within our better world._  
>  But let us raise a toast to all our bombers, all our bastards, most unlovely and most unforgivable.  
> Let's drink their health...  
> then meet with them no more.”  
> ― Alan Moore, V for Vendetta

It’s a million to one shot, this plan of theirs. And so in nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine timelines, it fails.

But in one universe never meant to exist, Dave Strider defeats the Condesce.

It’s a hollow victory for a battle that was always meant to end with one victor standing above two corpses. The fact that the blood on his sword is fuchsia does nothing to change the fact that Rose is dead, impaled, and never coming back. 

Strider is hailed as a hero, naturally, no matter how many times he tries to insist to the remaining human population that they’re simply _wrong_. He’s not a hero. He’s just some guy who got lucky and killed a fish alien. He should be dead. 

They should all be dead. 

Humanity begins rebuilding, and with that comes the destruction of the remnants of her empire. It’s the last thing he’s good for, getting rid of these, reducing buildings to rubble and rogue monsters to piles of meat. The people continue to claim him a hero, but it’s a hollow compliment for a hollow victory, and when they offer him the position of president, he turns it down. How could somebody like him ever lead?

“I’m just a shitty ass film director,” he says to her face, plastered onto a billboard he’s set to destroy. “I made money by making stuff so awful it had a negative cost. The fuck makes them think I’m cut out to govern them?” He uses his sword, the same sword he used to cut her down in person, to cut down her image. “Not like I got any sort of leadership skills.”

While slashing through her throne: “All I was good for was fighting against you. Was literally my sole goal in life, sent by a flaming meteor from god knows where to try and strike you down. And where the fuck does that leave me now?”

While setting fire to her mansion: “Should have attacked me first. Left Rose alive. Then again, maybe that was your plan. You knew she would be smart enough to pick up the pieces after you fell. All I know how to do is tear things down.”

While detonating explosives around her headquarters: “I’m not even cut out for this world any more. It’s your fault. I don’t know how to live without you, even though I’m the one who killed you. Would’ve been better to die at your hand than live to see thirty extra years without meaning in them.”

Ten years later, he’s been forgotten by the world, left alone in a secluded apartment in the remains of Houston. He watches a new leader finally rise from the rubble, to start society anew. Charismatic, powerful, and in his mind, no less corrupt than the Batterwitch herself. 

He sees the signs, but doesn’t lift a finger to stop it. 

Best leave humanity to its own demons.


End file.
